


Le Feu De La Passion

by RayearthHikaru



Series: Coeurs Rebelles [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Fingering, Kisses, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2062857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayearthHikaru/pseuds/RayearthHikaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Arno has to control his animalistic impulses, the desire he feels for you incredibly strong, without ever going beyond the kisses you both crave impatiently at the end of each day - or week in this case.</i><br/> <br/><i>However, the situation in which he finds himself is not exactly helpful, suppressing his needs – that are already thightening the front part of his breeches – is even more difficult now that he sees you in a similar provocative state.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay well... let's forget about Elise for a moment and concentrate over the fact that we finally saw Arno's hair.
> 
> What a babe.
> 
> Also, I admit that Elise is beautiful... but she is a Templar and thus I can't really take her seriously. I know Maria from AC1 was a Templar too, but do you remember what William Miles said in AC3? Templars and Assassins tried more than once to put aside their hostilities, but that never worked as history proved.
> 
> Anyway, this is the sequel of my Arno oneshot **Intruder** and I decided to create a small series for these pieces. Again, since the game is not even out yet, Arno's personality might be totally different from the one described here, but I'm trying to keep him in character basing everything on the available trailers and descriptions.  
>  Also, I actually had planned a second oneshot, but I ended up splitting it in two (or three) chapters because I somehow got nine written pages. NINE!
> 
> Yes, this is a bit explicit. Be warned. 
> 
> **Translations**  
> 
>  _Le feu de la passion_ = The fire of passion  
>  _Monsieur_ = Sir/Mister  
>  _Pas question_ = No way  
>  _Ma chérie_ = My dear/honey/sweetheart  
>  _Si belle_ = So beautiful  
> 

Crouched on the roof's edge with a strong smell of gunpowder inflating his lungs, Arno Victor Dorian keeps his yellow ireses locked on that familiar window, once again open and terribly compelling.  
It is like a gentle call coming from your house with such a big power, his feet quivering with impatience as much as his heavy and aching heart.

It all started with an escape through the streets of Paris. A temporary shelter in the first available and on hand dwelling, the needed time to shake off the guards and then leave undisturbed along the rooftops, that was all he asked for.

But his plans almost went up in smoke when he found you, innocent and confused, in that old house.

You, probably the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on.

You showed an initial distrust against him (who wouldn't in your shoes?), but it didn't take you long to drop down your shield, arms crossed and a grim look set on his bigger form.

“ _A-And who are you supposed to be_ , Monsieur _Arno_?”

Oh, the satisfaction he felt when you finally gave in, cheeks deliciously heated for his gallant deeds and proximity, the anger you felt for your grandmother's jar - item he accidentally hit and destroyed with his feet jumping in - vanished in an instant with a simple, tender kiss on the back of your hand.

And then there was that hot and passionate encounter of lips, something he started on his own initiative to apology for the inconvenience and that you seemed to appreciate quite a lot in spite of all.

Nothing significant in the end, nothing relevant. Or so he thought for at least five minutes after leaving your place without looking back even once.  
But then, savoring your taste on the tip of his tongue, Arno felt something inexplicable, something _new_ , forming into his chest.

The guilt that overwhelmed him afterwards was absolutely unbearable.

You clearly were not a rich woman, adjusted to a very simple life in that old house with cheap clothes and limited furniture. The jar he destroyed was probably the most expensive thing in your hands, an item that previously belonged to your grandmother and surely had a deep sentimental value for you.

How could a kiss exchanged with a perfect stranger be enough to sort things out, then? Yet, you didn't want any money from him and accepted to simply pick up the pieces of your precious relic, throwing them away without shedding a single tear.

And furthermore, he couldn't erase the intoxicating scent of vanilla from his robes.

He had a task that night, a target to kill. Templars are taking advantage of the ongoing Revolution to carry out their own plots, thing that a master Assassin has to prevent before the people are once more deceived and the brotherhood defeated.

And it was right there, in his victim's manor, that he had found that jar inlaid with gold and showy gemstones.

He smiles to himself recalling those memories; your sleeping form, candid and pieceful, when he silently slipped into your house again to deposit the new item, a white nightgown instead of the bulky dress you were wearing when he met you, your hair undone and spread over the soft pillows.  
A glimmer of light in this rotten world filled with darkness and lies.

Unable to wait any longer, Arno jumps off the roof and reaches your window with a rapid climbing, his heart exploding at the mere thought of seeing your smile again.

 _“Train me,”_ you had said once. _“I want to be part of the brotherhood. Make me an Assassin.”_

Fighting with you side by side, having the chance to see you everyday instead of visiting for his nocturnal escapades... Devil curse him, he was certainly more than tempted! But, that would surely put you even more in danger and there are just too many things you still ignore about their creed and what it entails. Thus, with sorrow and regret, he had to answer with ' _pas question_ ' to your request.

_“You are so mean to me, Arno.”_

The pang he felt in his heart when you refused to embrace him after that, stepping back and sending him away with a burning anger in your narrowed eyes.  
He has waited for seven long days before finally find the courage to see you again, a whole week of doubts and hesitations, struggling to resist the urge of capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Now, hoping to find a calm and reasonable woman, Arno silently enters the house like a stealthy cat, grinning when he beholds the jar he gifted you with not less than four months ago. Careful not to bump it like he did with its predecessor, he puts down his feet and steps inside, a single candle illuminating the room like every night, half-melted on your desk by the flame's heat.

And there you are, lying on the perfectly made bed, long skirt and boots still on whilst you piecefully sleep away from the outside hell.

Though, his mouth dries up as he watches you sleeping in such a compromising position; legs slightly open with your feet dangling from the bed and the front laces of your corset loosened for an unrestricted breathing. The mounds of your breasts are uncovered and your hands resting just below those delicious curves that seem to demand a special attention.

Arno has to control his animalistic impulses, the desire he feels for you incredibly strong, without ever going beyond the kisses you both crave impatiently at the end of each day - or week in this case.

However, the situation in which he finds himself is not exactly helpful, suppressing his needs – that are already thightening the front part of his breeches – is even more difficult now that he sees you in a similar provocative state.

He gives up eventually, approaching the bed with a mischievous smile pulling the angles of his lips upward.“You will catch a cold,” he whispers.“But if I could, I'd remove all of your clothes and warm your body in my own special way, _ma chérie_.” He presses his left knee on the mattress once he gets close, which lowers under the weight of his heavy muscles.

The back of his gloved fingers give your cheek a gentle stroke, the other hand tracing a slow, sensual path over the exposed part of your breasts, outlining their curve and descending along your clothed thigh. He waits, moving a strand of hair from your eyelids, until you respond to his touch with a faint shiver, an inperceptible sound leaving your parted lips.

Arno's longing increases even more and forces him to grab the glove leather between his teeth and pull the cold material until it's finally removed, right hand now bare and ready to explore whatever you have to offer under that bulky skirt of yours.

The glove falls next to his knee as he positions himself beside your motionless figure, his right hand wandering on your skirt with an unprecedented curiosity, but even if Arno himself is aware of the fact that things are taking a wrong turn by now, he is definitely willing to continue with his indecent acts.

Once he reaches the hem of your skirt, Arno lifts the soft fabric until your leg is fully visible from the boot to your knee, fingertips running in circles over your supple skin with insecurity, dismay forming on his features for his improper actions.

But the more he lingers on your softness even with the lightest of touches, the more Arno Dorian wants to mark his own territory and make you become officially his property.

How many times he woke up covered in sweat, from a nightmare that showed him your imminent death or direct murder? The mere thought of losing you is driving him crazy, squeezing his heart with a tight grip and shaking his trained limbs.

He is fond of you... wishing he could have you all for himself, but having to settle for what you two can share, these short moments of sweet abandon and passion.

He kisses your chin with his eager lips, fingers exploring your thigh as his hand draws a perfect line upward and under your skirt. Your legs wide unconsciously whilst you keep sleeping, breathing becoming suddenly difficult notwithstanding the loose corset.

“ _Si belle_ ,” he mutters excitedly, crotch painfully compressed in his tight breeches.

You moan in your sleep, enjoying what you consider a beautiful dream with Arno, his heating body pressed on you oh so wonderfully.

The Assassin's movements cease when his fingers come into contact with your undergarments and he can barely contain his groan of appreciation finding them already wet for his delicate, yet thrilling strokes over your leg.

With a burst of confidence, the Assassin sticks both hands – one still covered by the other untouched glove – on your hips to take a hold of the only barrier between his lusty fingers and your intimate region. The elastic band of your panties is pulled gently, your lower body lifting and favoring his whishes, your will and mental clarity completely clouded by this sense of drowsiness you are in.

And for the first time since everything started, you finally manage to speak. “Arno―”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second part, yeah... the fun begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**
> 
> _Oui_ = Yes  
>  _Mon Dieu_ = My God  
>  _Merde_ = Shit/fuck
> 
> It'll end with the next chapter.

_And for the first time since everything started, you finally manage to speak.“Arno―”_

The goosebumps, the fire burning inside of him when his name escapes your mouth. “Oh _oui_. Call me, feel me.”

Your undergarments are soon tossed on the wooden floor, leaving you completely naked and vulnerable under the wide skirt you're wearing. Arno's fingertips are back on your leg and a bunch of butterfly kisses on your chest send electric shocks to your heart increasing its pace. You gasp for air and quiver in your confusional state, dream and reality mixed together in a suspended dimension of pure euphoria.

His hand travels along your thigh, higher and higher, indulging on your groin for a good amount of time. His brain is screaming, trying to prevent him from doing what his heart and body so intensively desire, ' _it is wrong_ ' it says, ' _the closer you get to her, the more you put her safety at risk_ '.

And he knows so damn well that an Assassin's life can only bring death and misfortune to whoever stays near him. He already feels responsible enough for his foster father's passing a few years ago, event that led him on a new road and made him become what he is today.  
The last thing he wants is putting you in danger as well, risking your young life for his stupid moods and needs... for what he is so wretchedly uncapable of controlling.

It would be quite easy, really... taking his hands off of your smaller form, putting back his forgotten glove, lowering your skirt before straightening, leaving the bed and retire in the night. A piece of cake, indeed.

If only he wasn't so turned on by your vanilla scent and body heat, so needy and curious to savor your intimate flavor. He is right there, so close, fingers grazing your opening with a feather like touch, your legs shamelessly spread as a clear invitation.

He relentlessly fails, losing this fight from the very start.

' _Just for once, only this time_.'

So be it.

You wince and 'sing' his name the moment when your clit is stimulated by a pair of deft fingers, tips moving back and forth on your already swollen nub.

Your face contorted by pleasure is a pure piece of art to him; knitted brows, eyes tightly closed, mouth open and voice warming his ears like a wonderful melody.  
Not completely satisfied, Arno decides to further proceed with his exploration, fingers sliding down and stopping teasingly right around your entrance, your body completely at his mercy for his delight.

You inhale deeply when one of his experienced digit carefully slips inside, hands fisting the bedsheets with an incredible force.  
Arno pushes his finger deep into your depth, your inner walls pulsing and tightening around him as he begins to pump it in and out at a slow pace. You feel so good, wet and warm and soft... another groan leaving his throat when you openly cry out.

A second finger penetrates into your cavern right when the movements inside increase their speed. It feels so heavenly, both of you lost in this precious moment of closeness and intimacy.

The Assassin showers you with a bunch of hungry kisses all over your neck, teeth biting and tongue inspecting all the sensitive spots. It is too much, too intense, fingertips hitting the correct place over and over again with every thrust.

You are about to reach your peak and Arno can feel it, pace becoming tremendously fast and unsustainable.

Nobody ever touched you like he's doing now with such mastery and precision, nobody ever made you feel even remotely like he does when you are with him.

Your back arches, head thrown back as he continues, your legs tremble and bounce following his rhythm, the bed creaks just under you.

“Arno―” you call his name again. “ _Mon Dieu!_ ”

“Let it go,” he incites, thumb pressing on your bundle of nerves and caressing its sensitive hood. “Come for me.”

The muscles in your abdomen contract right after as a burst of colorful stars appear behind your shut eyes, toes curling almost painfully, orgasm hitting you with a powerful wave of ecstasy. Your inner walls clench around his fingers, still moving to guarantee you a unique pleasure until the very last spasm.

You eventually come down from your starry heaven, limbs now weak against the mattress and heart in turmoil.

Arno, meanwhile, retreats his fingers from your depth and finds them coated with your intimate juices, staring at the glistening substance with fascination before putting them in his mouth and savor your wanted flavor. His own eyes roll in the back of his head doing so, sucking and emitting shameful, but enticing wet sounds in the process.

Simply delicious, just like he had predicted.

Taking his time, the Assassin grabs the scattered glove from the messy sheets (your powerful grip has crumpled them) and puts it on again, only when he's sure that his fingers are completely cleaned from your fluids. Right now you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, lying on the bed so visibly tired, yet sated due to his enjoyable actions.

Your body protests with a slight jerk for the loss of warmth when his figure moves away from the bed, hand wandering over the sheets in search of his hot structure and eyelids barely lifted. Forms and colors finally resume their shape in the obscurity of your room, the candle flame is fading little by little, but you now recognize the surrounding environment regaining lucidity.

Just like that presence, hoodied and undefined, bent on your right leg.

Gloved fingers are circling your kneecap affectionately, the other hand travelling along your hip with sweet abandon and alarming possession.

You react by reflex, your visibility still blurred, raising the right boot and clashing it against the man over you, the force of the impact sends him directly on the floor, a grunt of pain is heard immediatly after and freezes you there in your spot.

You definitely know that voice...

Rubbing your burning eyes you try to focus the person curled up on the wooden planks, shivering and wanting to sink in a black hole when you at last recognize that familiar attire. Arno is pressing his hands on the aching nose, groaning in pain for the powerful kick you just gave him. The hood that partially covered his appearance is now lowered for the heavy fall, his dark hair tied in a ponytail stand out around his pale, _bloody_ skin.

Panic instantly runs through your veins. “Oh, _merde_! ARNO!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kick scene was suggested by **OrangeSubmarine** , it was just too epic and I couldn't ignore it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry ladies, no more explicit content (well, not at all) in this split oneshot.
> 
> But you will see more from me, I swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Translations** :
> 
>  _Je suis vraiment désolée_ = I'm so sorry/I'm truly sorry  
>  _Tout va bien_ = All is well/It's okay  
>  _Chérie_ = My dear/honey/sweetheart  
>  _Non, Je ne suis pas_ = No, I'm not  
>  _Pardonnez-moi_ = Forgive me

_Rubbing your burning eyes you try focus the person curled up on the wooden planks, shivering and wanting to sink when you at last recognize that familiar attire. Arno is pressing his hands on the hurting nose, groaning in pain for the powerful kick you just gave him. The hood that partially covered his appearance is now lowered for the heavy fall, his dark hair tied in a ponytail stand out around his pale, bloody skin._

_Panic instantly runs through your veins. “Oh, merde! ARNO!!”_

 

You immediatly rush over him to check the actual damage inflicted, the man manages to rise in a sitting position, grunting. The red streaks leaking from his nostrils are far from reassuring, as well as his reddened nasal septum.

“Oh Arno, I'm so sorry!!!”

Your shaking hands are placed on his warm cheeks, his golden eyes are watery for the evident pain you accidentally caused him, but the comforting smile he shows you proves that your unexpected gesture has not in the least upset him.

“Hold on,” you mutter, an annoying lump in your throat. “I'll clean this mess.”

Arno follows your flustered figure disappearing into the other room, his nose is awfully sore, hell! What a strenght you have in those beautiful legs of yours!  
You come back a few seconds later with a small white towel in your hands, apprehension the only visible emotion in your eyes and gestures, frantically running to him and kneeling down.

“ _Je suis vraiment désolée_ , Arno!"

He winces when you press the towel around his nose to clean it from the blood, the white material turning red. “Look what I've just done...”

“ _Tout va bien_. I am an Assassin, _chérie_ , I have been far worse than this," he answers.

The peacefulness in his voice fails to soothe the rending guilt in your guts. "But I just broke your nose!"

He chuckles. "A little price I am willing to pay."

Those words trigger the bell in your head as you spot your undergarments scattered on the floor with the corner of your eye, you also realize you're actually naked under your long skirt and that your corset is still half undone, exposing a generous portion of your breasts and that he seems particularly interested in checking out.

The embarrassment and excitement you feel at such realization are tragically evident and mixed in your expression. "I was not dreaming, was I?" You ask with resignation, towel dabbing delicately around his injured nose.

"You were not," he comfirms. "Are you displeased?"

He sounded more amused than worried about your responce, because clearly, he knows you are anything but unhappy about his skillful ministrations.

Smiling, " _Non, Je ne suis pas_."

You keep removing every trace of blood from his skin, stopping the leakage of it applying a small pressure under the nostrils. Arno is staring at you with a pair of soft eyes and the trace of a marvelous smile on his full lips, some strands of hair are out of the ponytail and fall gently on the sides of his visage.

So handsome despite the broken nose.

The candle flame is completely extinguished, just like the willpower in your brain. His eyes, so deep and magnetic, are able to remove every little trace of fear and insecurity from your soul.

"Damn it, Arno. Don't look at me like that."

He sniggers. "Or else?"

"Or else... I won't be able to stand anymore."

In an instant, the man wraps his hand around your wrist, the towel soaked in blood falling from your loosened grasp. "You are on the floor now," he specifies, lips painfully close to your own mouth. "I would not mind taking you right here."

His last sentence, whispered with a thrilling husky tone, is like a spark that lits the fuse during a battle. You don't even try to consider his words before throwing your arms around his neck, lips meeting his in a frenzied hot kiss. It is mindblowing, with his talented tongue dancing around yours and his hands resting on your lower back. The orgasm he gave you, the way he fingered you, touched you all over your right thigh... what he did to you was more than you could ever ask for and thus you believe the Assassin between your arms deserves to receive a prize of equal importance.

Your left hand travels down from his nape to his left side, the fabrics of his robes are thick and unwieldy. Arno deepens the kiss enlarging his mouth, divouring you in a way that turns you on even more.

You brush your fingers along his clothed abdomen, to then descend towards your destination with tantalizing strokes. The back of your hand at last is greeted with his firm, hard erection, painfully squashed into his breeches and impatient to be freed.

Unfortunately, the moment when you take a hold of his sprightly virility, Arno abruptly grasps your hand and pushes it away, kiss breaking for the sudden gesture as you stare at him in shock.

“Wha―”

“But, it is better if we save it... for another time.” Arno is breathless, his cheeks flushed and forehead beaded with sweat. “Because if you continue, I will not be able to stop myself.”

You frown in confusion. “I wouldn't mind, you know.”

He shakes his head, sadness and repentance washing over him like a river in flood. “Another time.”

“But you need―”

Fingers are placed over your lips to cut off your words again, the leather feels extremely cold and results in a chill down your spine.

You can tell the man in front of you is unsure, scared even, about a possible future together with you. Saying you do not feel the same would be a lie, because the more you try to keep him close, the more he slips away from your hold just like it's currently happening.

And plus, no matter how hard you try to stay positive, you both could die at any time. You can't even put your feet outside without risking to receive a stray bullet in your head and Arno himself might be stabbed from a guard during a fight, or worse captured and led to the guillotine for a public execution.

Neither you nor him can predict the upcoming events, you can only pray for his and your own safety, enjoying these brief moments with your beloved Assassin and getting lost in every simple touch.

You relax, lips forming a melancholy curve. “I understand.”

And Arno has no doubts, you really do.

“ _Pardonnez-moi_ ," his voice comes out faintly, gloved palm touching your cheek.

"No need to apologize, Arno. You've done more than enough for me tonight."

No more embarrassment, nor shyness about what he has done. You are truly grateful for how he made you feel and there's no need to deny it, no need to hide your satisfaction and appreciation for that.

A small amount of pride appears on his features, lips pulled in one of those mischievous grins that won your heart after only one meeting. Lifting the hood with a quick movement he covers his head with it, the beautiful dark brown locks now hidden under the blue material as he stares at you from under the created shade.

And then, in the hamlet of a second, he is gone like a blade in the night, leaving you alone in the silent house and with a growing desire in the pit of your stomach.


End file.
